


AKA I'm From the Yearbook

by BlackVitriol



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVitriol/pseuds/BlackVitriol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope is a track star sophomore. Jessica is a cynical senior. Worlds collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	AKA I'm From the Yearbook

The sun beat down on Hope’s face, but she didn’t care, as her slim body ran down the track. Gliding to a stop, the coach looked at his timer with a smirk and clapped proudly at his shining (and sweaty) track star.

“Shlottman, great job. Keep it up” smiled the coach. Nodding happily, Hope wiped her forehead from sweat and picked up her water bottle and sat in the bleachers, reflecting on her day: she had a new phone, her acne was nonexistent and she’d managed to get a job interview. Life was good. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and relaxed, listening to the sound of the breeze rolling into the field, the clicking of the insects-

…..wait clicking?

Raising her head, Hope turned to her right: with the bleachers right next to the woods, some of the trees hung over the top of the stands, spilling shadows. Sitting within the shade was a young black haired girl: she was rather pale and skinny and by the way she dressed, looked more like she was going to a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert. Currently, she was taking pictures of the track field with her camera, paying no attention to Hope.

“You from the yearbook?” asked Hope. The photographer paused, fixing her eyes on Hope as she lowered the camera.

“Yeah, sure. Something like that” said the girl warily. 

“How can you wear a leather jacket in this heat, aren’t you sweating?” asked Hope

“I don’t sweat, I simmer” said the girl, getting up and putting the camera in her bag.

“You’re a senior right?” asked Hope, approaching her. As she did, Hope couldn’t help notice the photographer’s eyes dart to her left, almost as if she were thinking of an escape route. 

“I’m Hope” said Hope, introducing herself.

“Jones. Jessica Jones” relented Jessica.

“So why are you taking pictures?” asked Hope curiously

“Like you said, I’m from the yearbook” lied Jessica. Hope nodded

“Yeah, it must suck that Miss Birch is in charge right? I heard she’s a massive pain in the butt” said Hope nonchalantly

“Yeah, she’s a pain” 

“Miss Birch retired last month, Mr. Brandley’s in charge of yearbook. Which means you’re not in the committee” said Hope. Jessica’s green eyes widened and a smile crept up her face.

“Alright, so I’m not in the yearbook” said Jessica, as she started to walk down the stands.

“So why the pictures?” asked Hope, not moving from her spot. Jessica paused mid step and looked over her shoulder. 

“It’s for a client. Don’t worry, your pretty face wasn’t included” said Jessica in a matter of fact tone. Giving Hope a once over  
and a smirk, she promptly left Hope, who stared dumbfounded at her as she left.

“Pretty?” wondered Hope.

 

Reviewing the pictures on her computer at home, Jessica looked closely at her evidence: the first few were of a blonde girl in a pink top sneaking under the bleachers, with a football player following suit. Jessica could barely contain her disgust as she looked over the pictures of said player and blonde talking, followed by pictures taken earlier of the two attempting to devour each other in a dark alley.

“Being a creep again?” asked a snide voice from outside her room

“Still wearing that dumb wig?” countered Jessica as she placed the printed pictures in a folder, along with enough evidence to assure Carl that yes, his girlfriend was a whore. Did Jessica care? No, not really. She wasn’t a full-fledged private investigator, but she made some money by proving the worst of others. As she deleted some of the less useful photos, she came across one she hesitated on: it was Hope, laughing at a joke told by a girl sitting next to her. The logical action would be to delete the photo. But then again, Jessica did illogical shit all the time. Closing the photo, she ignored the urge to look at it more and took off her pants, climbing into bed with a sigh. She could hear Trish from the other side of the room talking to her insipid boyfriend Will on the phone.

“Ugh, blondes” she thought irritably, rolling over and getting comfortable. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit jealous of the flirty looks Will gave to Trish, to how Trish seemed on Cloud 9 and how her room was filling up with countless stuffed toys.

She’d also be lying if she said she didn’t send a certain photo from her computer and to her phone to look at the following day. She could have talked to the girl in the photo during lunch face to face, because the pretty blonde sat only two tables away. But she ignored the urge. Hope Shlottman wasn’t gay. She had a boyfriend, Kevin Thompson, some foreign exchange student from England. And Jessica wasn’t gay either, as she frequently declared to Jeri Hogarth’s trademarked bitch face when questioned how she was staring. She just liked her lipstick, said Jessica. 

Yes, you’re obviously thinking of her lipstick, drawled Jeri. Lipstick wasn’t applied to where Jessica’s eyes were focused on, but Jeri swallowed a follow up remark and gave her “friend” a rare smile. She’d realize it, sooner or later. They always did.


End file.
